The Chris Alvarado Roast.

Some folks have asked to see what I said about Chris Alvarado at his roast.

Here, reprinted, is the entirety of my speech. (I've edited it to reflect changes that I made on the night of. Some of my factual information was a bit off.)

Enjoy.



The Alvarado Roast

What can I say about Chris Alvarado that hasn’t already been said… about rap artist, Flava Flav?

Shitty taste in music? Check.
Nigga can’t lay off the pussy? Check.
A career as a joke to be scorned on a national level? [pause] Well, give him time.

I know most of the other roasters are going to talk about Chris’s sex life. If they go into too much detail, we could be here all night. So, I am focusing on something less interesting and a little briefer.

(At this point, John Eiberger interjected, "Your sex life?" which got such a big laugh that we had to hold the show for a bit. I completely broke character and had to struggle to get back into the proper mood for it.)

His career as an improviser.

Chris blew into town like a hurricane. He met Matt Barbera and just kept blowing and blowing and blowing…

Those two are fast friends. You never see one without the other. And you just know they both think that they’re being generous by letting “that little shit” hang out with them. Ah, delicious irony.

In fact, they became so inseparable, the poor Ray Mees soon found himself friendless on Saturday nights. Things got so desperate that he was forced to hang out with Mike Davenport on a regular basis.

But there is a plus side to Alvarado leaving, now Mike Dwyer gets to be “the cute one” again.

But this isn’t about Those Three Faggots, this is about Chris Alvarado and his accomplishments here in Chicago. Meager, though they may be.

You might not know this about Chris, but he’s currently on 2 separate teams, Mustang Despair and Space Rubbers. Occasionally, you could see him hogging the stage at “Short Yellow Bus” .

Chris was also a regular at Open Court. One night, we let him coach a team there. He shared the bill with Tony Realege and Juan. We were exploring a motif…

Chris was an excellent coach. Very generous. He spent nearly the entire show editing those kids scenes before the would speak and supplying the ‘beatboxin” under them, that he apparently felt they needed.

After the show, I remember seeing him walking one of the young ladies from his team to the Town Hall, where he continued giving her “notes” behind the Golden Tee Machine at the bar. At one point they got so into the notes that they nearly knocked that fucker over.

And who amongst us hasn’t allowed Chris private entry into their holiest of holies?
I certainly can’t cast the first stone here.
Chris forcefully took me up in that light booth after a Space Robert show once. At first, I was nervous and confused. It helped that he spoke softly to me and drugged my Gatorade. Afterwards, he thanked me, gently kissed my ear and said, “You weren’t too bad, Higgins.”

[To Chris] We’ll always have the light booth. [blow kiss]

It wasn’t all in vain, though. For my troubles, I got the location of the key to his apartment and now enjoy a heaping collection of N.W.A. CDs, this handy portable ipod unit, and a swank new laptop computer with enough shemale porn on it, to kill a normal man.

After I dumped all the shitty hip hop out of it.

I would also be remiss if I didn’t mention Chris’s numerous contributions to charity. A lot of you may not know it, but Chris contributes his time and energy to quite a few of them. Take the Big Brother/Little Brother program, Chris has been tutoring little Sean Kelley in the ways of improv for months now. He’s almost got it figured out!

And what about his generous time spent working with the “Lanky, Gay Retards Society of America” Is Ross Bryant here? [pause for laugh] He knows what I’m talkin’ about.

Those fine charities will have to do without Chris’s efforts though.

Chris is returning to his native city of Los Angeles. A city where those charming hand hand signals that Chris can’t resist dropping in a show, actually mean something.

A city where the people speak his language. Mexican.

A city where he can enjoy the activities that he used to enjoy before he moved here: running from police dogs, mugging old women for their meds and trying to convince people that he’s white.

Our city will seem lessened by his absence.
Our stage will seem smaller when he’s gone.
Our bar tabs will be diminished when we are only paying for ourselves now.

There can’t ever be another Chris Alvarado. And Thank God for that, eh?

Who amongst you could edit a scene and then have nothing to say?
Who would dare to make grabbing his dick their only character choice?
And Who will carry the Space Robbers shows through to their critical membership vote in March?

(Sorry guys, its better if you hear it now.)

We will miss you, Chris. And if we don’t, tonight we will pretend that we will.
Because we are all sincerely hoping to get you drunk and get a taste of that fine Mexican cock, one more time..

We love you, buddy.

[applause for Avarado, sit down and relax.]



Me, speaking at the roast. I had to wear my glasses to focus on what I had written. I'd had a few cocktails. The roastee is behind me. This is the only picture of my presentation. Because everyone with a camera was too busy laughing their asses off to take a picture.